


miscellaneous

by owardenmywarden



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Other, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 15:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owardenmywarden/pseuds/owardenmywarden
Summary: a collection of original ideas I may or may not expand upon





	1. the aftermath for chosen ones

“We were heroes, once,” she whispers to him fiercely. “We were more.”

She saw him die, she remembers. Him, her brother earned with blood, her best friend, the boy who spoke of a family left at home that he didn’t get to say goodbye to. He died for her. For a prophecy she didn’t believe, but he did.

He sits there, eyes searching her face with a despair so echoing she wants to take back her sword and swear revenge at the world. He has scars he doesn’t remember getting in a war he doesn’t remember fighting.

_“We were heroes.”_


	2. superheroes

“Ghost?”

If the torture didn’t kill him… well, everything else would. How long had he been there? He couldn’t remember, and it scared him. It felt like forever.

“Ghost?”

Wait… That sounded like Jack. Captain. He had to be hallucinating, because there was no way they got him. Hallucinations happened before. This had to be a particularly cruel one.

“Come on, Ghost, please…”

That one was… Angeline. Steel. He was definitely hallucinating. Steel couldn’t be taken out like him. Besides she sounded… worried. More worried than he had known her to be before.

Footsteps. They sounded close. He was almost hopeful and he hated this hallucination for doing that to him. Maybe he would fall unconscious soon.

“Steel…” Jack’s voice, guarded and concerned all at once. “I found him. I’ll need your help with this door.”

He missed Jack, and the others. God, it probably hurt them so badly when they didn’t hear back from him. Jack especially, since it had been his idea to go in the first place. He couldn’t have known.

The scream of metal wrenching apart. More footsteps. The voices were… right there.

“Oh god, Captain… What’d they do to him?” Angeline sounded coldly furious now too. He’d feel touched if this wasn’t almost definitely a hallucination.

“I don't know if I want to find out. Ghost? …Ace, can you hear me?”

It had to be a hallucination, just – Wait.

He felt hands gently find his pulse. Not bare hands – Jack would never be so forgetful – but gloved.

“He’s alive, Steel. We have to get him to Salae. Can you carry him?”

She must’ve nodded, because next thing he knew he was being gently lifted into her arms. He cried out a little from the movement and already felt the blackness of unconsciousness coming to greet him.

“You’re okay now, Ace. We got you.”


	3. prisoner's mark

The small dark cell offered little comfort to Diodore, but he supposed that if he was confined to a palace he still wouldn’t be comforted. This way left no illusions as to what was coming. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. 

Tomorrow was his execution day.

He had overheard the guards talking about it. No one would say anything to him, of course. The most contact he had was the occasional sneer as he was given his daily meal. No, he was too lowly for human contact. The type of scum that would’ve been left forgotten in the dungeon if this lord didn’t feel that executing him gave a "statement.”

No one seemed to listen to him when he said he was innocent; why should they? After all, the evidence was there. Scant evidence, perhaps, but as there was no other evidence pointing to anybody else they considered it proof. Now he was left alone with nothing but his choking fear and his muttered prayers. His threadbare bed was about as much comfort as everything else, but he remained in it anyways. There was no noise other than the occasional sigh from the guard outside, and no light other than the small lantern by the guard’s feet. Perhaps this contributed to him falling asleep, despite all odds.

Yet, perhaps not. 

He found himself standing in what seemed to be a meadow, but... _wrong._ The sky was black, for one, and the grasses a dark gray.

There was an air of... expectation. As if the meadow itself was holding its breath. This was a nightmare, he supposed. He’d never had a nightmare with such clarity before, but… things happen. His terror about his execution could have caused it.

He almost believed it until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, turning and almost falling backward to get away from whoever touched him. He certainly wasn’t expecting a black, shadow-like figure. His eyes widened and it appeared to notice, because it disappeared for a second and was replaced by someone a little taller than he was, dressed in a black and gray suit with an almost gaunt face and black curly hair. Their eyes were completely white, though. A reminder.

“I apologize,” they said almost awkwardly. “I should have realized that I would frighten you.”

They blinked, seeming to expect a response. Diodore was not about to give one. Upon realizing this, they continued.

“You are supposed to die tomorrow.” The statement was made simply, without emotion. He flinched nonetheless. “I know that you are not the culprit. You have been accused to cover up another’s crimes. But, well, as I said. You are supposed to die tomorrow.”

They paused again and an almost mischievous smile formed. “I can help you survive.”

For a second he just stared at them. Then, “How?”

“That doesn’t matter yet.” Their voice was smooth, almost soothing his uncertainties despite the withholding of information. “I can help. I promise, I will tell you more. But not now.”

They held out a right hand. He stared at it for a second before taking it reluctantly. They shook, with more enthusiasm on part of the figure. There was a spark of pain in his hand, then darkness.

He woke up in his cell to the light of a lantern flickering over his face, then a guard hauled him up.

“Big day today.” They had the same sneering tone as the other guards he overheard, but with a trace of something else underneath. Not sympathy, surely, for they tied his hands together in front of him with, he felt, unnecessary roughness. 

He was led out of his cell on stumbling legs. Down a hallway, up some stairs, then into the blinding sunlight. He blinked harshly as his eyes adjusted and saw the block waiting. He almost stopped, his heart in his throat at the sight. The memory of the dream was hardly any reassurance. It was probably something his mind had conjured in a last ditch attempt to relax.

He was led to the block, his mind just then acknowledging the small crowd of people he knew lived on the estate. He searched for a sympathetic face but the best he could find was apathy, even in the people who knew him.

“Diodore Delacroix, you have been accused of murdering the lord’s son in his sleep as of two weeks ago. You have been proven guilty.”

 _With what evidence?_ He thought desperately. He remembered the being’s words – he was being accused to cover up the guilt of another. Who could have done it?

He supposed he was a bit too late to wonder that.

“Have you any last words?”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He couldn’t get any words beyond the choking fear that he was going to die. The executioner waited for a second, then almost sneered when no sound was forthcoming.

The guard behind him pushed him to his knees, resting his head on the block. The executioner picked up their axe. The fear was overwhelming. He wanted to just accept that he was going to die so he could at least die peacefully, but he couldn’t let himself.

This was _wrong._

He flexed his right hand subconsciously. It had been itching ever since he had seen the block, but now it was burning with pain. He closed his eyes briefly as he saw the executioner raise their axe.

The burning in his hand raised to a peak, then there was a strange pulling feeling.

The pain died.

There was silence. 


	4. false heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning is a prompt by the-modern-typewriter on tumblr!  
> https://the-modern-typewriter.tumblr.com/post/168617459333/youve-forgotten-who-you-are-oh-no-i-just

“You’ve forgotten who you are.”

“Oh no, I just really wish you’d let me.”

They glared at him as he sat there on his shitty hotel bed. He wasn’t taking this seriously. The world – _their world_ – was going to die because _someone_ didn’t want to take enough responsibility to save it.

He saw their expression and looked almost amused, in a hard way. “Save it. Don’t act like I don’t know.”

“You’re doing _nothing_.”

“Trust me, I tried. I did. "Nothing,"" he said, spitting out the words with a bitter sort of humor, "was _all I got._ I’m not the goddamn _chosen one_ to look towards. If there is one.”

“We were both there, for the first few years. If you’re not the chosen one then my _god,_ you were incredibly lucky.” There was a bitter taste in the back of their mouth as they spoke. “Hell, I don’t give a shit if you want to sit on your ass for the rest of your short goddamn _life._ If you’re not it, don’t just give people false hope like that.” 

He just sat and looked at them for a few seconds, anger burning in his eyes. “Do you think people would respond better if I got up in front of the entire world and said "Oops, sorry, this was all a big mistake! Have fun with your impending doom"? Besides, even thinking about it put them on my ass. Running away was the best option.”

" _For you._ " They almost laughed with rage. “God. It was only the best option for you. People don’t feel better by thinking that their chosen one has fucked off and left them to die.”

“Nothing’s good enough! What do you want me to do?”

“You have to tell the truth. God, I don’t care what you do after that. If you tell the truth, then the search can at least begin again.”

Terror illuminated his face for a brief second, but it was gone so quickly they weren't sure. “Fine. Fine, if it’ll get everyone off my back.”

“Good.” They paused before offering a hand to help him stand. He snorted bitterly at the sight of it, but took it anyways.


End file.
